My social context has always been that given my good attitude and ample abilities it is only a matter of time in any given endeavor before I will succeed--provided. In earlier times "provided" meant for the most part judicious choice of endeavor. With a blackball, all this is changed. The understanding of the patrons of my social context of what "provided" entails is no longer sufficient, and I am forced to explain it to them--a laborious uncertain process that stands as an impediment which most depressingly must be tackled full-time while in the mean time no progress is going to be made on the material substance with which I must contend being blackballed.
There is in this state of affairs no blame for anyone. Yet acceptance is not helpful. I have made plenty of statements about my situation and these have not stabilized it one bit. I sit upon a precipice when I say such things, extending my sight to its limit while knowing that where I sit is only just newly established and the next extension is no more easy than the beginning was.
My adversary has labored in concealment these 29 years with probably vast resources. In heterosexual circles we do things in the open, challenging our rivals included. This kind of secret contest disgusts me. It is a mark of ignominy for the race of men.
Here is this blackball. I cannot show it to you. It is in the darkness. It preys upon my casual nature, and promises to leave in ruin all the things I have done hoping to overcome it, things for my own betterment and that of others. If I make you smile at this, just remember--they don't share your sympathy.
I am very sure I know who it is. I have done what I can to describe the circumstances of my acquaintance of her, not having her name. I know the motive--sexual rivalry. I know the nature of her means--financial wealth from her parents. I have an impression of her character--tough and capable of cruelty. She is the ideal object of war. A enormous chasm separates our camps, in method and values, and I would not be offended if the public took my disgust for her as unsavory. The public is morally shallow.
I would like to leave you with a picture of myself on my deathbed. I ask you: was this man victorious against his arch enemy, or was he defeated? The case will be judged by that far more than by the trappings of victory which I have assembled at present, and which can be seen as inconsequential. And if you read this and do not become calm and reflective and consider what I have said with grave intent, then I will die defeated. I cannot fight this fight alone.